


Inspiration

by Titch360



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12647085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titch360/pseuds/Titch360
Summary: Everyone has secrets.





	Inspiration

Inspiration

 

Everyone knows that the best, most consistent, and most reclusive, mystery author of the last quarter century is Chester Quartermain.  This magnificent writer of detailed, nuanced, gripping tomes of gritty, pulp noir came on the literary scene out of nowhere to instant celebrity status in the mid-1990's with his first epic novel, Festival of Peril.  While expectations were high, and demand was frothing, the highly anticipated follow-up novel took nearly ten years before it saw the light of day.  Monastery of Doom propelled Quartermain's fame into the stratosphere.  However, soon after publishing, debate swirled over whether it would be another decade before another sequel materialized.  Fortunately, for the ravenous literary public, the third masterpiece to flow from Mr. Quartermain's pen followed after only five years.  Many consider Emails with the Devil to be Mr. Quartermain's best, but it only served to flame debate between fans of the first book and the third.

A larger debate than which book is best has been raging since Festival of Peril was first published.  That is, who is Chester Quartermain?  The author has proven to be more reclusive than Howard Hughes.  Mr. Quartermain has never given an interview, never made a public appearance, and never been identified.  Conspiracy theories abound as to the author's identity, but as yet, none have come remotely close to uncovering his, or her, identity.

Chester Quartermain's books revolve around the cases of the Wyatt Detective Agency, a family-run private eye firm that does everything necessary to solve their cases.  Emmanuel Wyatt is the main character; a man that was described in such exacting detail in Festival of Peril, that no cover model could be found who was close enough for a photo shoot.  Instead, a former police sketch artist did the most lifelike work of his career to come up with a picture of the man.  Festival of Peril started with Emmanuel Wyatt as a police detective, investigating the murder of his brother, who ran a traveling carnival.  While trying to solve the murder, and deal with the grief of losing his only brother, Emmanuel suddenly becomes the guardian of his young nephew, Rod, his brother's son, and the only living family each of them have left.  It takes Emmanuel a long time to figure out how to even approach Rod, who just wants someone to treat him like a person, instead of an annoyance.  The relatives build their relationship, and Rod finally trusts his uncle enough to tell him that he witnessed the murder.  The finale of the book is a two hundred page, nonstop chase through two counties, three subways, seventy-five miles of high speed highway chases, a hospital, a funeral home, a PTA meeting, and the eleven o'clock news studio, before Emmanuel Wyatt is able to apprehend the murderer on the runway of the local airport.

Every single review of the book warned potential readers not to read past page three hundred ninety-seven, unless they had absolutely nowhere to be for the next three to six hours, because it was physically impossible to put the book down once the final chase started.

Monastery of Doom found Emmanuel Wyatt retired from the police force and working as a private investigator, with a now late-teenaged Rod as his partner.  An investigation into the death of a priest, a well-loved teacher at a parochial school for orphans, led the Wyatt's into a ring of demonic cults and ritual sacrifices.  Upon discovering the cult, Emmanuel and Rod break up a ritual and save a young teen from being sacrificed.  James, the orphan saved from having his heart cut out, is traumatized into silence.  The cult doesn't believe that, and attempts to silence him, and the Wyatt family, for good.  The Wyatt's are attacked, and have to go on the run to stay one step ahead of the cult, while they gather the evidence needed to put them away.  They are able to set up a sting, with the help of Emmanuel's old police friends, and catch the cult red-handed.  Instead of a non-stop final chase, Monastery of Doom ends with one hundred twenty pages of the finest, most dramatic, most compelling courtroom drama ever put on paper.  The cult is broken and jailed, and Emmanuel adopts James.

Reviews, of course, were glowing for Mr. Quartermain's second work.  However, in a surprise twist, Monastery of Doom became required reading for several law schools, as it showed just how difficult a trial could be.

In Emails with the Devil, The Wyatt Detective Agency is contacted by the government to track a terrorist.  A series of bombings and kidnappings have terrorized the city, but unknown to the public, each event was preceded by a warning email.  The emails were tracked to a teen, living in the Wyatt's city.  The government hopes that the Wyatt's, who have now become internationally famous crime solvers, can come up with a motive for this teen to carry out his attacks.  Emmanuel, Rod, and James look at the emails together and find a hidden message, stating that the teen is a hostage himself, being controlled by the terrorist.  The Wyatt's track down and rescue Matt Byrd, the teen, but that is only half of the problem.  The terrorist is going to release a biological attack on the nation's capital, and it is up to the Wyatt's to stop it.  Racing against the clock over a finale of three hundred pages of explosive action and emotional rollercoasters, the finale of Emails with the Devil earned applause from critics worldwide, and sent it to the top of the New York Times Bestseller list, where it held its number one spot for a record two years straight.

It has now been seven years since Mr. Quartermain's last book, and interested fans are wondering if another masterpiece is in the works, or if the world has heard the last of Chester Quartermain.

In his secluded refuge, Chester Quartermain is himself wondering if the world has seen the last work from his pen.  There have been many years of ups and downs, and he fears the muse has left him.  Being catastrophically busy with other obligations has left precious little free time for brainstorming.  The ideas just aren't panning out.  It isn't that Mr. Quartermain hasn't had ideas, but the ideas he has are not enough to turn into full-length novels.

Frustrated, Chester dropped his pen on his desk, pushed his chair back, and got up to get a snack.  Donning his jacket over his pressed vest, he checked his hair in the mirror, and that is when internationally famous author Chester Quartermain reverted back into being revered butler Alfred Pennyworth.

Walking down the hall towards the kitchen, Alfred thought to himself.  _Do I really want to put myself through writing another book?  One of these days, someone is going to find out about my hobby, and they are going to ask some very uncomfortable questions.  How will I be able to explain all of this?  What will the boys think?  How have they not figured it out already?  Master Bruce and the boys love my books.  They have read them all several times.  Except for Master Damian, that is.  I am unsure if anyone has shared them with him yet.  I almost hope no one does.  He is the one most likely to discover who the author really is._

Alfred stopped outside of the kitchen, changing his mind on a snack.  Instead, he wandered, to clear his mind, ambling around the lower floor of Wayne Manor.

It was a strange night in the house.  The spirit of justice and vengeance did not settle over the manor tonight, and neither Batman nor his partners darkened the city streets.  The entire family, Alfred included, seemed run down, and in a change from the norm, everything was put off in favor of a night of rest.

Alfred saw a light on in the front sitting room.  Knowing it wasn't the family's most popular relaxation destination, Alfred headed for the room, to turn the light off.

Stopping at the doorway, his hand hovering over the switch, Alfred was surprised to see the back of Bruce's head sticking up over the back of the couch.  Bruce turned his head, and Alfred was about to apologize for interrupting Bruce with his presence, figuring that was what had broken Bruce's concentration on the newspaper he was reading, when Bruce looked down and said, "Sorry, Damian.  Your head _could_ be in a better place, though."

The newspaper was pushed aside from below, and Damian's voice rose from the couch, "It's okay, Dad.  Better a newspaper to the face than...well, a lot of other things."

Alfred could hear the smile in Bruce's voice, "True."

Alfred snuck forward, trying not to be seen, yet wanting to see what was going on.  Bruce sat on the end of the couch, reading the newspaper.  Damian was laying on the couch, reading from his Kindle, his head propped up on Bruce's leg.  It was a simple scene, but it warmed Alfred's heart greatly on this cold, rainy evening.

Trying to back out of the room without being noticed didn't work for the butler.  He wasn't discovered by the pair on the couch, but from behind.

"Hi, Alfred," Tim clapped a hand on the butler's shoulder in passing, "Hey, Bruce, you're not going to believe this news."

Tim headed for an armchair next to the couch, holding up his tablet.  Bruce put down his paper and asked, "What's going on, Tim?"

Tim gave a large smile and said, "Warner Brothers finally got the green light for the film adaptation of Festival of Peril."

The news was as much a surprise to Alfred, who stopped trying to leave the room, as it was to Bruce.  "Really?  There have been rumors of that happening for years," Bruce said.

Tim showed Bruce and Damian the tablet with the official announcement on the screen.  Bruce nodded with a contemplative look on his face as he read part of the story out loud.  "Studio officials proudly announce the start of pre-production work on Hollywood's next big thriller, Festival of Peril.  Chester Quartermain's landmark work is slated for a Christmas release next year.  Interesting.  Is there anything in there regarding casting?"

Tim scrolled through the article, "I saw something about that...here it is.  They haven't decided which way they want to go yet, but they are in talks with Michael Keaton and George Clooney.  Val Kilmer has already turned down the role, due to scheduling conflicts."

Damian sat up and crossed his legs under him on the couch, "Aren't they both a little old for the role?"

Bruce and Tim stared at the teen.  Bruce said, "I didn't know you had read Festival of Peril."

Damian nodded, "I read it twice.  I'm reading Monastery of Doom right now."

Tim smiled, "Yeah?  What do you think of it?"

Damian gave a rare smile, "It's amazing.  I can't read it fast enough.  So far, it's not as good as Festival of Peril, but it's still better than almost everything else on my Kindle."

Smirking evilly, Tim said, "Have you gotten to the part where..."

Damian's eyes widened, and he shouted, "No spoilers!  I want to read it for myself."

"Yeah, but how about..."

Damian slapped his hands over his ears, "Shut up!  Shut up!  SHUT UP!"

"But that ending.  It's so Usual Suspects."

Damian looked like he wanted to cry.  "It is," the teen asked in a small voice.  "Why would you tell me that?  Damn it, Tim, you just ruined the whole book for me.  Didn't I _just_ tell you I wanted to read it for myself?"

Bruce could hear Damian's fuse ticking, and intervened for safety sake.  "Relax, Damian, Tim is just messing with you.  The ending is nothing like The Usual Suspects."

It took a long minute before Damian calmed himself enough to look at Bruce and ask, "It isn't?"

"No, it isn't."

"You swear?"

Bruce smiled, "It is nothing like The Usual Suspects, I swear."  Damian started to relax when Bruce grew a crafty look of his own, "It's more like... _hrk!"_

Bruce stopped suddenly as Damian jabbed two fingers into his throat.  "Father, I love you, but one more word that even remotely sounds like a spoiler, and I'll crush your larynx."

Bruce smiled, "Okay, son.  But, if you think Michael Keaton and George Clooney are too old for the role, who do you think should play Emmanuel?"

Damian thought for a second, "Festival of Peril describes Emmanuel as a younger guy.  Maybe they could get someone like Christian Bale?"

Tim thought for a second, "Maybe.  I can see that.  I just hope they don't sell out and go for someone too mainstream, like Ben Affleck."

Bruce and Damian both shook their heads.  "No.  Absolutely not," Bruce said.

Damian cocked his head, "Definitely not Ben Affleck, but I could, maybe, see Matt Damon in the role."

Tim nodded, "I can see that.  What do you think, Alfred?  I know you must have read the books.  You like a good mystery almost as much as Bruce does."

The three Wayne's turned to the butler.  Caught, Alfred tried to control his blush as he said, "Oh, I don't know.  I guess any of those would be good for the role.  You are aware of just how much I pay attention to the modern media."

They all knew the answer was next to none.  None of them could remember the last time Alfred had turned on a television, and only Bruce had been alive the last time Alfred had set foot in a movie theater.

"I thought you were going to bed, Alfred," Bruce said.

Alfred shrugged, "I wasn't as tired as I thought.  I was going to make a cup of tea.  Did anyone want anything while I'm in the kitchen?"

Bruce and Tim answered negatively, but Damian eyed the butler, "I could go for a cup of tea.  Do you mind if I join you?"

Alfred smiled, until he saw the calculating look on the teen's face.  "Not at all, young sir.  I shall bring it out shortly."

Alfred stood over the kettle, waiting for the water to boil.  _I'm fairly certain that young scamp knows more than he is letting on.  While I'm glad that he seems to be enjoying my books, I had hoped to keep my identity hidden.  At least, until it is revealed in my will, that is.  Then again, Master Damian is admirably able to keep secrets._

An expected voice sounded from behind the butler.  "So, I know who you think _really_ should have played the role, but who do you think should play Emmanuel Wyatt?"

Alfred gave a soft smile before turning to look at Damian, who was standing close behind him.  "You are right, the role seems to have been written for someone younger than those currently in consideration."

Damian cocked his head, "Did you know that a film adaptation was in the works?"

Alfred shook his head, "I found out at the same time you did."

"Hmm.  How can they make a move like that without..."

Alfred cut Damian off with a look.  "Stop.  I'm going to do something I wouldn't normally do.  Come with me."  Alfred grabbed the tea tray and walked out of the kitchen.

Down a back hallway, Alfred asked Damian to open the door to his rooms.  Damian did so, but hesitated before following Alfred into the room.

Alfred stared at the boy, still standing in the hallway, "I did not have you follow me all the way down here to shut you out in the hall.  This is not the first time you have been in here."

Damian looked uncomfortable as he walked into the space.  "It's the first time I've been invited in, though," Damian said softly.

Alfred showed Damian to a small table next to a north-westerly facing window, on which the butler had placed the tea service.  Two armchairs, maroon, with deep upholstery, flanked the table.  Damian examined both chairs in an instant, and took a seat in the one that showed the least wear.  He didn't want to sit in Alfred's preferred seat.

Glancing out of the window, Damian said, "You have a nice view from here."

Alfred smiled, "Not too different from the view from your own room, I would suspect."

Damian shrugged, "I don't really have a view of the north woods.  They are nicer to look at than the lawns, in my opinion."

Alfred took a seat, and they both sipped at their tea.  Alfred regarded the boy and said, "Now, I believe you were about to make a wild supposition?"

Damian met the look, "I don't think it's all that wild.  It's fairly obvious that you are Chester Quartermain."

Alfred flinched slightly, "It obviously isn't that obvious, if no one has come to that conclusion before.  I would be interested in hearing your reasoning, though."

Damian smiled, "The books are meticulous, well-written, thorough, detailed, intricate, interesting, and unforgettable.  All of those could also be descriptions of you.  While wholly original, your stories and characters are familiar; almost as if I were living with them.  There are clues written between the lines that only someone familiar with you would pick up on."

Alfred blushed a bit and said, "Assuming all that is true, why would I write under an assumed name?  I have always liked my name."

"Because you have a place; not just in this house, but in society.  You are so dedicated to Father that you don't want to do anything that will disturb the life you've crafted for him.  And, even though you have penned some of the finest stories ever written, you are still having trouble believing that you are an internationally famous, best-selling author."

Alfred didn't respond, so Damian continued, "You know, you helped me figure it out.  I might have only had suspicions if you hadn't allowed me to meet your brother.  Does he know you have borrowed his first name?"

Alfred smirked, "Even if that was true, where would I have come up with a name like 'Quartermain'?"

Damian matched the smirk, "You seem to forget that I have a genetically enhanced memory.  I remember things that I shouldn't.  You got the name from the main character from your favorite book as a boy.  I know this because you told me.  When I first came here, you suggested I read King Solomon's Mines, and let me borrow your copy.  You were right, by the way.  The adventures of Alan Quartermain did make for a good tale.  Even though I was physically incapable of showing it at the time, I enjoyed the story greatly.  Not as much as I enjoyed Festival of Peril, though."

Again, Alfred was quiet for a minute.  He set his empty tea cup on the tray and steepled his fingers in front of his face.  "Do you realize what you've done, Master Damian?"

Damian gave a warm smile, "Solved the most perplexing literary riddle of the last quarter century?"

Alfred's smile grew to match Damian's, "Correct, dear boy.  As you deduced, I am Chester Quartermain, and that is the first time I have ever uttered that phrase out loud."

"I won't tell anyone, Alfred.  It's fun, knowing things that others don't.  How have you kept this a secret for so long?  Why hasn't Father figured it out?"

Alfred shrugged, "I'm not sure your father _wants_ to figure it out.  I have tried to alter my source material enough to keep the origin a secret..."

Damian interrupted, "...But, your books _are_ based on us.  Or, more accurately, on Father and the others."

_Is there more to that question than he is saying at this point?_   "Yes, they are."

Damian nodded slowly, "I see.  Are...are you planning a fourth book?"

Alfred gave a small smile, "I have been brainstorming ideas for the past five years."

That surprised Damian, "Five years, you say?"

Alfred nodded, "I have ideas, but not one single one is panning out into something I can write at four to five hundred pages.  I have looked at combining multiple ideas, but the ones I have are far too disjointed to be combined."

"Can I take a guess at what changed to throw off your writing process?"

Alfred eyed the teen, "I couldn't include a character that didn't exist yet, and, yes, my old ideas don't seem to work with our new reality."

Damian thought for a second, "So, we really are your characters?  Emmanuel is Father?"

"Actually, I was thinking more about your grandfather when I came up with Emmanuel."

Damian's eyes widened dramatically, "Grandfather!?!"

Alfred held up his hands to try to calm Damian's reaction, "Thomas Wayne, dear boy.  I'm sorry that I misspoke."

Damian took a breath, "You didn't.  I'm just not used to thinking of Father's father that way.  I should, but I don't.  Why him, and not Father?"

Alfred sighed, "Thomas Wayne possessed a warmth, a gentleness, that I was, unfortunately, unable to preserve in your father.  It was there, but I couldn't save it.  We all have our failings, Damian.  That is the one that haunts me the most.  Emmanuel is a dream of who your father should have been."

Damian felt bad for unwittingly hitting a nerve, so he quickly changed the subject.  "Why did you go for the sexual innuendo in naming your other main character?"

The question surprised the butler, "I beg your pardon?"

Damian gave a small smile, "Rod is obviously your version of Dick.  There had to be something in your name choice."

Alfred rolled his eyes, "If I remember correctly, I had just read an interview with the actor Rod Steiger, and the name stuck in my mind.  He was originally to be named Ricky, but I thought that was too close to Richard.  James just sounded right, and I did go for a bit of a pun with Matt."

Damian looked confused, "Who are James and Matt?  Oh, are they Jason and Tim?  Alfred, I'm only on chapter three of Monastery of Doom.  I haven't gotten there yet."

Alfred nodded, "Then, I won't spoil anything for you."

Damian looked over his tea cup, "I think I'm more interested in the real aspects.  When did you first have the idea to write a book?"

Alfred smiled, feeling like he was making up for all of the interviews he never gave over his literary career.  "I always enjoyed writing when at school.  I understand that you don't."

Damian shrugged, "I enjoy things I'm good at.  Creative writing is not one of them."

"Ah.  Well, I first got the idea once Master Dick started to get settled in with us.  I realized that it had been such an incredible, unbelievable set of circumstances...I knew the whole world should have a chance to hear the story."

"But they didn't," Damian said, barely able to hide how enthralled he was by the tale.

Alfred shook his head, "Of course they didn't.  I couldn't give a day-by-day account of the real events.  I exaggerated here and there, to make it different, while still keeping it believable.  Obviously, I should have made the events a little more abstract."

Damian cocked his head, "What do you mean?"

Alfred grinned, "You figured out my secret.  There have been television specials hosted by forensic analysts who couldn't figure it out."

Damian blushed slightly, "Well, they've never met you, or had the chance to sit down and have a cup of tea with you."

"Your father and brothers have.  Why have I never had this conversation with any of them?"

Damian didn't have an answer to that question.  He looked at a loss as he said, "I don't know, but I bet they'll kick themselves when they find out."

Alfred looked sternly at Damian, "You are _not_ to tell them, young man."

Damian was surprised at that, "You don't want them to know?"

"I didn't want anyone to know.  That is why I write under a pseudonym."

"Why?"

Alfred sighed, "The stories I have interpreted are immensely personal.  It is a matter of trust.  I didn't receive permission to tell these stories, and even knowing him his whole life, I am unsure of how your father will take the news."

Damian thought for a long second before saying softly, "I think he'll get over it.  Yes, you told a story that technically wasn't yours, but you told it in such a way that showed the utmost respect and consideration for your subject.  I guarantee, even if Father gets mad at the situation, he'll get over it."

They both leaned back, thinking quietly.  Finally, Damian asked, "What do you do with the money?  It's not like Father would ever make it necessary for you to need another source of income."

Alfred smiled, "Part of the proceeds are directed straight to a variety of charities, mostly orphanages and foster care agencies.  The rest is deposited in my retirement account in the Caymans."

Damian's eyes widened in shock, "Retirement account?  Are...are you really considering...retiring?"

Alfred smirked gently, "Not so long as I still find my work enjoyable."

Damian looked down, "Oh.  I'm sure cleaning up after us is not high on your list of enjoyable occupations."

Alfred reached out and rested a hand on Damian's shoulder, "I've been doing this for fifty years, Master Damian.  If it were the burden you seem to think it is, I would have left years ago."

"So, you're not retiring," Damian asked hopefully.

Alfred gave a wink, "Not this week."

Damian reached up and patted the hand on his shoulder, "Please give us more than a week's notice, if you plan on retiring."

"Looking to replace me," Alfred asked.

"There is no replacing you, Alfred.  I would have to learn all your duties around here, and that will take far longer than a week."

Alfred regarded Damian in shock, "You would take over for me?"

Damian nodded, "We can't exactly throw someone new into this family, and expect everything to run smoothly, or for no secrets to be revealed."

Alfred nodded slightly, "I never thought of that.  Surely there must be someone out there who can be trusted."

Damian nodded, "I'm sure there is, but the interview process would be horrendous."

They both shuddered at that prospect.  Alfred then smiled and said, "As long as the process is nothing like my interview, I'm sure someone could be found."

Damian eyed the butler, "Didn't you stop a robbery during your interview?"

Alfred smirked with a wink, "I would feel sorry for anyone who tried to burgle this house now.  Even if they could get past the defenses, there is no way they would get past you and your brothers."

Damian smiled, "That might be fun."

Alfred picked up the pot, to pour them another cup of tea, only to find it empty.  "Hmm, we seem to be out of tea."

"That's alright, Alfred," Damian said, "We each had three cups.  I think I'm good on tea for now."

Alfred nodded, "Very well.  Since you figured out the mystery, did you have any other questions?"

Damian nodded, a bit sheepishly, "Yes, um...where to begin?  Um, the characters are based on us, right?"

Alfred nodded, "More or less."

"Why did you break your normal cycle?"

Alfred looked puzzled, "I have a normal cycle?"

Damian looked at Alfred critically, "Each of your books have been written and published within eighteen months of each of Father's additions to the family.  It's been over four years since I came here, and you have yet to put out another work."

Alfred grew concerned at the tone entering Damian's voice, and how the teen was no longer meeting his gaze.  "You must admit, it has been an exceptionally busy four years."

Damian nodded, "Yeah.  Is that all it is, or..."

"Or what, young sir?"

Damian was silent for half a minute before mumbling, "There is no good way for me to say this, is there.  I'm too demanding of your time, aren't I?"

Alfred took a deep breath and let it out slowly before admitting, "You were.  It was a learning experience for both of us, but rest assured, I don't hold any of it against you.  You have grown, and become far more considerate than you were when you first arrived.  I have actually been brainstorming ideas for the past two years, but nothing seems quite right.  You might be surprised to know that some of my ideas are things I later found out actually happened to you."

Damian gave a small smirk, "You can't write about those; it just wouldn't be believable."

Alfred nodded, a smile curving his lips, "Truth is stranger than fiction, Master Damian."

Damian glanced up, "You're really planning on bringing in a fourth potential son for Emmanuel?"

"It seems only fair," Alfred said.  Then, he smirked, "You know, early on in my planning, before your existence was known to us, I contemplated making my new character female.  Obviously, I can't do that now, but it was a thought."

Alfred thought Damian would object to Alfred's original plan, now almost six years old and long written out of his plan.  Instead, Damian thought introspectively.  Scratching his chin, Damian said softly, "If you could make her something like Robin...that might not be such a bad thing."

Alfred eyed the teen, "I assume you are referring to your girlfriend, and not your night persona?"

"Right."

Alfred thought for a second, "That might be something to consider.  However, I think that might be more your story than mine."

Damian looked over and asked, "Why did you write only one book per son?  I'm sure you had more ideas than that."

Alfred gave a small smile, "Oh, I've had ideas.  I've never really felt the need to write more than once book for each."

Damian looked down at his lap, "Oh.  Have you...have you not felt 'the need' to write a fourth book, as well?"

The question could have been asked with accusation in the boy's tone, but there was none to be found there.  Instead, if Alfred had to describe the emotion, he would say that Damian was feeling like he didn't measure up.  Alfred looked over with a compassionate gaze, "Are you feeling left out, Master Damian?"

Damian gave a slight, embarrassed nod, and Alfred continued, "You shouldn't, dear boy.  I have spent longer planning your book than all three of your brother's combined.  The problem I keep running into is that none of my ideas have been grand enough to compare to the life you have already lived."

Damian thought for a second before smiling, "Then make it simple.  There is no reason the character you base on me has to be special."

Alfred held up a hand, "I always make it a policy for my characters to be just as deep and nuanced, and important as those I base them on."

Damian nodded, "Like I said, make it simple..."

"Stop," Alfred interrupted, "I will hear none of your insecurities, young man.  This has the potential to be my best book yet.  I will not hamstring it because you want to believe that you are less than you are."

Damian couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his face.  They were quiet for a minute before Alfred started tidying up the tea service.  Damian commented, "You aren't planning on telling the others about this, right?"

Alfred gave a small smile of his own, "The grand reveal is written into my will."  Alfred them met Damian's eyes with a serious look, "It _will_ remain a secret until then, right, young man?"

Damian rolled his eyes, "Who is better at keeping secrets in this house than me?  Other than you, of course."

Alfred nodded, "I suppose that is true.  Now, as for producing a tangible product, you have several weeks left until you start your college classes, and I am rather stymied as to where to take my next novel.  Would you care to serve as a creative consultant?"

Damian's eyes widened, "You want me to write for you?  I thought you wanted the book to be good?  I told you, I'm no good at creative writing."

Alfred gave a smile, "Yes, you did tell me that, and I don't want you writing for me.  I dare say, I enjoy that part of the process enough to not want to share it.  I am not looking for a ghost writer, just a little assistance in developing a new character, and an appropriate adventure for our heroes."

Damian thought for a second, "Are you going to go with the 'child he never knew about' aspect?"

"Unless we can come up with something better.  You have to admit, it makes for a compelling story."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Alfred nodded, "That is exactly what I asked you to do."

Damian took a deep breath, "Don't give my character a mother.  She's dead, and I've been looking for my father for years."

Alfred thought for a long second, "That might make it easier for character development.  However, before any of that, you need a name.  How do you feel about 'Donald'?"

Damian looked over critically, "As a character name for me, or as a duck?  Personally, I prefer it as a duck."

Alfred smiled, "So noted.  I see we have our work cut out for us.  Since it is getting late, how about we reconvene tomorrow morning, after breakfast?  That way, we will both be fresh and ready to go."

Damian nodded and yawned as he stood.  He followed Alfred back to the kitchen, where the butler said, "Why don't you head up to bed, young sir?  It is getting quite late."

Damian nodded again as Alfred washed the teapot, "That sounds good.  Good night, Alfred.  See you in the morning."

"Good night, Master Damian."

Alfred finished drying the teapot and cups, and had finished putting them away, when a new voice sounded softly in the kitchen.

"I always figured Tim would be the first one to figure out your secret."

Alfred turned and smiled at Bruce as the younger man made his way around the kitchen island.  "My money was always on Master Dick, but I can see Master Timothy figuring it out as well."

Bruce smirked, "Did you tell him, or did he just blurt out his guess?"

"He laid out his argument and evidence.  I just confirmed what he was fairly sure he already knew.  Detective skills seem to be hereditary."

Bruce crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter, "Are you any closer to getting over your writer's block?"

"Not yet," Alfred smiled, "but I'm sure my new creative consultant will remedy that in short order."

Bruce's eyes widened slightly, "You're going to let him help you?  Dick better not find out about that.  He'll be jealous that you kept this from him, and didn't let him help out when he was young."

"Yes, he will," Alfred nodded.  "I trust Master Damian to keep this to himself, though.  He likes having his little secrets, and he is quite trustworthy."

Bruce's smile grew to dangerous proportions, and Alfred held up a stern finger.  "No, Master Bruce.  You are not to torment him about his secret.  He believes he is the only one who knows.  I will not permit you to cause him anguish over it."

Bruce shook his head, "No, he believes he is the only one to figure it out.  I know how my son thinks.  I didn't figure it out, you told me."

Alfred thought for a second, "Yes, I suppose that is a distinction.  It is also semantics."

Bruce nodded, "I'll let him have his secret...for a while.  It'll give us something to bond over.  Let me know when you actually start writing it.  Have you come up with a title yet?"

Alfred leaned closer and spoke in a softer voice, "Something just occurred to me, actually, and a direction in which I can take this new story.  How does 'The Cat Burglar's Lament' grab you?"

Bruce gave a warm smile, "Sounds like another bestseller to me."

 

**A/N: Here is a little something that came to mind.  I like the idea of Alfred still having a secret life, even though he is out of the spy game (or, is he?).  I have several stories in the works, but I am slowing down on them a bit.**

**This story has actually given me something I have been looking for a long time, now.  For the past decade and a half, I have wanted to get something published.  The only thing that has kept me from trying before now was finding a good idea that I could write into something at length.  I think I've found it.  I am putting together an outline to actually write Festival of Peril.  If I can come up with something that I think can sell, I'll be putting some serious time into writing it.  This is seriously the first time in fifteen, or more, years, that I have come up with an idea that I liked enough to pursue.**

**I am also considering writing a second chapter to Baby Steps, chronicling the weekend sleepover.  If there is any interest in that, please let me know.**

**Thanks for playing along.**


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